


Don't Move

by BloodAndPaper



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5195783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodAndPaper/pseuds/BloodAndPaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Art School AU</p><p>Beauty was not enough here. The students here saw beauty in everything, and sought to capture it with paints and lenses and words alike. So she blended in with the rest of the beautiful things around her, until she became a chameleon, invisible to all who were not blatantly searching.</p><p>Prompt from ukulelekatie: Art school au where person A is taking a figure studies class and person B is the model</p><p>Also wanted to play with a bit of role reversal. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Move

It was her first week at a new school. If she were being honest, it was her first week at _any_ school. She had been home schooled for the better part of her life. But home school could only offer so much. She wanted to study under great minds and have mentors who were published; who had won awards for their words.

That’s how she found herself at the most prestigious art school that money could pay for. Only the best for mother’s _glittering diamond._ The first few days had not at all been what she was expecting though. Her classmates were less than friendly. There was a social class system that was very akin to an animal hierarchy in the jungle. Making friends was supposed to be easy. Five year olds did it on their first day of school, but apparently, charity events and dinner parties were not things that you could put on your social résumé.

No one had spoken to her at all. In her classes, even the professors ignored her and chose to call on other students around her. It felt a bit as if she were invisible. So she stood in front of the mirror, looking into her own dark eyes to make sure that was, in fact, not the case. Her hair fell around her shoulders in thick, dark waves. Her pale skin was flawless. Everyone she had ever met had commented on her beauty.

Beauty was not enough here. The students here saw beauty in everything, and sought to capture it with paints and lenses and words alike. So she blended in with the rest of the beautiful things around her, until she became a chameleon, invisible to all who were not blatantly searching.

She made her way to the event board – her mother’s idea – to join a club and force herself to be seen. But when she arrived, there were no clubs that caught her interest. _The Poet’s Society. The Dark Room Enthusiasts. Opera Fiends_. She was about to call it quits and resign herself to four years of solitude, when a flyer caught her eye.

_WANTED: Figure Studies Model_

_Must have impeccable bone structure_

Carmilla’s fingers rose to trace the lines of her face. She assumed they were prominent enough. The worst the artist could do was turn her away and laugh at her for even applying. She grabbed the flyer from the board and made her way to her next class. When she arrived there was a large group of students at the front of the class, they seemed to be surrounding a tiny brunette, all vying for the girl’s attention. Asking how her summer had gone and what great adventures she had gotten into.

Carmilla couldn’t see the girl’s face, but from the back, she held herself like a queen. Obviously, the most important person in the room. Her back was straight, her shoulder’s pulled back. Her hair was draped over one shoulder, and her long, slender neck flexed as she spoke of trips across Europe and cruises on the Med.

Carmilla instantly wanted to know her. To pick her brain for the images that would make her stories come alive. To pull the words from the girl’s mind before they had ever reached her lips, and pen them into beautiful scenes and witty characters. Carmilla had never gotten to travel with her parents. They were always much too busy with work to keep an eye on her, so she stayed at home, with tutors and house maids and never left her sleepy little town. Until now.

The professor entered and the students found their ways to their seats. Carmilla stood frozen, her eyes never leaving the image of the girl. When the smaller girl turned, eyes locking with hers, the girl studied her face with the scrutiny of a critic who had just laid eyes on _Autumn Rhythm_ for the first time. Desperately searching for the beauty that no one seemed to be able to find. Then her eyes flittered away just as quickly and she moved to find an open seat.

The brief gaze had shaken Carmilla to the core and she sat in the nearest seat she could find. She didn’t even remember what class she was in. She left the room in the same daze, looking down at her schedule to realize that it had in fact, been the class she was desperately looking forward to. _Creative Writing 205: Controversy in Fiction._

 She also realized, it was her last class for the day.

She went back to her dorm and studied the flyer. She stared at the number at the bottom of the page, lip caught between her teeth, much like she herself was caught between a rock and a hard place, figuratively of course. If she called, she would be forced into what would no doubt be a socially awkward disaster of an attempt to make a new friend. If she didn’t call, she would remain invisible.

She dialed the number and waited.

“Hello?”

The voice at the other end of the line was cheerful and confident. It made her feel all the more self-conscious. She didn’t realize she hadn’t said anything until the voice was speaking again. “Helloooo?”

“Sorry,” she spoke with the huskiness of someone who rarely used their voice. “I – um – I’m calling about the flyer.” There was silence on the line. “For a model?”

“Oh right,” the girl answered. “I almost forgot I put those out.” There was another pause. “Right, well I found a model already, but thanks for the offer. I’m sure you would’ve been great.”

Carmilla sighed. Of course. Her one attempt at integrating herself in slowly had been snatched from her grasping fingertips much like freedom was snatched from a jungle cat escaping its cage only to be met with the high fences surrounding the zoo. Maybe her mother had been right all along. Maybe she should have stayed at home, and taken a position in her father’s company.

Mother only wanted what was best for her. She had told Carmilla that people could be cruel. That life was often unfair to those who looked upon the world through the rose tinted goggles of creativity. But she loved her mother dearly, and knew that the woman loved her the same. That’s why when Carmilla had begged for art school, Lilita had sought out the best of the best to make her happy.

The girl was still on the other end of the line. How long had she been breathing in her ear like a fool? “I’m sorry to have wasted your time then,” Carmilla ended the call.

She lay on her bed and pulled out her journal, a thick leather bound book with pressed pages of recycled paper. It was beautiful. A gift from her father. Her thoughts spilled across the pages in elaborate loops of perfect cursive. _What is the meaning for all of this? Who are we and for what purposes do we exist at all?_ _Would the world even notice if she were to leave it? Would it be inevitably altered by her absence? Would kingdoms fall and lovers never meet had she never walked the earth?_

Most likely no one would even notice she was gone. She was, after all, invisible.

The next day she had finished her classes and was sitting in the shade of a huge tree in the quad with her journal when her phone rang. An unknown foreign number appeared on the screen, and at first, she almost silenced it, but instead she answered, figuring it must be her mother calling her from Paris. “Bonjour Maman, comment je peux vous aider,” she answered.

“Oh um – I think I may have the wrong number,” the girl said with obvious confusion. It was the girl from yesterday. The artist.

“Oh, sorry,” Carmilla replied quickly. “I thought you were my parents calling from Paris,” she explained.

“Your French is beautiful,” the girl said softly.

Carmilla gave the girl a low chuckle. “Thank you,” she whispered. “How can I help you?”

The girl paused. “Oh right – You called yesterday – about being a model?”

“I did. You told me you had found someone.”

The girl exhaled into the phone. “I _had_ found someone, but she had to cancel last minute. Stomach virus apparently. And while I’m sure that would have been – _colorful_ – it’s not exactly my idea of art.

Carmilla laughed genuinely this time. “I see,” she paused, pulling the flyer out of her notebook and reading the name. “Well, Laura Hollis, I can be your model. Just tell me when and where to be.”

“About that,” the girl continued, unaffected by the use of her name. “What are you doing right at this moment?”

Carmilla lifted an eyebrow. “Currently I am sitting under a tree in the quad, writing about life, the universe, and everything…” she let the reference dangle in the air like low hanging fruit, ripe and ready to be plucked.

The girl laughed. “I’ll tell you a secret that will save you a lot of time.” She paused for dramatic effect. “The answer is 42.”

This time Carmilla threw her head back and laughed unabashedly. “Well considering I have all of this free time now, I suppose I could meet you.”

Carmilla gathered her things and made her way to the building Laura had directed her to. She pushed open the door to Room 307 and gasped. Laura Hollis. The tiny brunette that was the darling queen of Silas Art School. She studied Carmilla once again with those same critical eyes. Then she smiled and stepped forward.

* * *

 

The first week of school was always her favorite week. She got to catch up with all of her friends and hear about their adventures over their summer vacations. She got to meet all of her new professors and see the syllabi for the courses she would be taking that year. It was all very exciting.

It was even more exciting this year, because she was no longer a freshman. Last year had been tough. It wasn’t easy being the daughter of a world-renowned artist. People always assumed she had gotten into Silas because of her father. And they constantly compared her work to his. Her work was nothing like his.

She had worked very hard to prove herself as an artist to not only her professors but also her classmates. And her hard work had paid off when she had been the first freshman in over twelve years to receive that sought after silver envelope inviting her to the Silas Fall Showcase.

The Showcase was a Silas student’s wet dream. It was the one event every year where critics and artists from around the world came to the university to drink and dine and see the work of the students that the Dean had hand picked as Silas’s up and coming. The cream of the crop. Laura had won last year. Instant popularity. Instant credibility. This year, no one would compare her work to her father’s, and no one would question whether or not she was meant to be here.

The only downside to this semester was that she was unable to get her color theory class, and instead had to take the only elective available for her time slot – a creative writing class. She had no interest in writing, but she would make the best of it. She entered the class and was immediately surrounded by people she knew. They asked about her summer and her father and how many gallery openings she had attended. She laughed them off and told them stories about her cruise and how the first mate had tried to take her back to his cabin.

When she turned to find a seat, she was met with the piercing gaze of a girl she had never seen before. She studied the contours of the girl’s face and her fingers twitched at her sides. She was itching to sketch her. Instead she made her way to her seat, trying desperately to keep the image in her head.

During the class she barely listened at all. Her pencils flew over the page in front of her as she traced a sharp jawline, strong chin, and high cheekbones. Dark, almond shaped eyes and the straight line of a nose. She slammed her notebook shut when she realized what she was drawing – or rather, who she was drawing.

After the class, she had gone out with her friends for dinner and then back to her dorm to settle in. She opened her notebook, eyes tracing over the sketch from earlier. This was her model. This was her muse. She was hell bent on asking this girl to pose for her during their next class.

Her phone rang, jostling her from her thoughts. “Hello,” she answered.

She felt bad for lying to the girl. The other girl seemed a bit upset by the fact that Laura had already found someone to fill the position. But she was dead set on the girl who looked as if she’d been chiseled from marble.

It wasn’t until halfway through the following day that she began to second guess herself. She didn’t know this girl. And no one she asked had ever met her. None of her friends from the creative writing class even remembered seeing the girl. Laura was almost ready to believe she had made the girl up entirely – if not for the sketch in her notebook.

So she called the other girl back and told the potential model that her previous arrangement had cancelled. A little white lie never hurt anyone. She had arranged to meet her new model – Carmilla – in the Pollock Building. She was already there and setting up her things when she heard the door open.

She turned and was met with a sight so beautiful her fingers were twitching before her brain could catch up. It was _her_. It was her model. The girl from the creative writing class. The girl chiseled from cold, white stone. Her eyes ran over the girl’s face taking in all of her features once again. She realized she was staring and shook her thoughts, smiling and stepping forward to shake the girl’s hand. “Carmilla, I’m glad you could make it. I’m Laura.”

Carmilla took the girl’s hand in a firm grip, quirking her lips up in a smirk. “I gathered that from the flyer,” she said with amusement.

“Right,” Laura exhaled. “Of course. Um, well I’ll just lock the door so we’re not interrupted. There’s a privacy panel at the back of the room,” she pointed to the elaborately painted folding panel. “And there should be a robe on the hook.”

Carmilla raised an eyebrow. “A robe?”

Laura turned her gaze back to the confused girl. “Well, yeah. It’s Figure Studies. I have to – um – be able to see your – uh – figure…” she said, blood rising to her cheeks. She watched as Carmilla’s eyebrows shot up and under the fringe of her dark bangs.

Carmilla shook her head. “Right. Of course. Yeah, I’ll just go – change,” she said awkwardly.

Laura tilted her head. “You didn’t know what Figure Studies was when you called did you?” She exhaled. She really hoped this girl wouldn’t back out. Not only did she need to get started on this project, but she also _really_ wanted this girl to be her model. “Look, if the idea makes you uncomfortable, I could try to find someone else…”

Carmilla shook her head. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll do it.”

Laura smiled. “Great. I’ll um – give you some privacy.” She turned back to her easel and began setting her things up while Carmilla went to get changed. “How long do you have?” she called over her shoulder.

“I’m free for the night. That’s the plus side of being new and having no friends.”

Laura’s shoulders fell. She knew what that felt like. She turned to tell that much to Carmilla, but instead came face to face with the girl, robe draped around her slim body, open wide at the top to reveal perfectly sculpted collarbones and a slender neck. Laura sucked in a deep breath. “Well, you have at least one friend now, if you don’t hate me by the time this is all over with,” Laura laughed.

A friend. Something Carmilla had never had, and always longed for. Her brow furrowed. She was almost positive that _friends_ didn’t find themselves wondering what it would be like to press the other against the wall and kiss them senseless, but who was she to dissect the word platonic?

Laura eyes raked over Carmilla’s body. She was the perfect specimen of the female form. Even in her robe. She blinked away the image of rushing forward to push the robe to the floor and devour the girl with her eyes. She took a deep breath. “Right. So I’m going to put you into five different poses. Each pose will have its own panel. I’m just going to do the rough sketches tonight, just to make sure I’ve chosen the right poses, and then next time I’ll actually do the painting. Is that alright?”

Carmilla nodded. Friend? Next time? It was already more than she had hoped for. She could already feel the lonely void in her chest filling with Laura’s presence. “What’s the first pose?”

Laura stepped forward and spread out a sheet on the floor. She reached for the tie of Carmilla’s robe, fingers halting at the knot. “May I?” she asked.

Carmilla simply nodded again, unsure of her own voice at the moment. She felt the tie come loose and the robe being pushed from her shoulders. She heard the barely audible gasp from the tiny artist in front of her, and suddenly she felt beautiful once again. As if Laura had been actively searching for her, and had found her in chameleon form, eyes tracing her shape and pulling her from her surroundings. She felt the flush in her cheeks and the rush of blood in her veins. No longer did she feel invisible. In fact, she felt very, _very_ visible at the moment.

“Sit,” Laura whispered, and Carmilla followed her instructions instantly. Laura draped the sheet across her lap, tucking it in here, and pulling it out to fan against the floor there.

The artist’s fingers left trails of fire on Carmilla’s skin where they brushed against her while positioning the sheet. She let out a trembling breath, when the girl pulled away and met the brunette’s eyes. Her gaze was intense. Filled with passion and something very akin to desire danced within the golden flecks of her irises. Carmilla only knew this, because her own gaze was the mirror image.

Laura had positioned the model with her legs in front of her, one knee bent, body leaning back supported by toned arms, head looking back over her shoulder. “You're perfect,” she whispered as her fingers left Carmilla’s jaw. “Don’t move.”

You could cut the tension in the room with a dull knife, by the time Laura was finished with her first sketch. This was taking much longer than she had originally planned. She couldn’t focus on anything but the girl sitting before her. Every time her tongue peeked out to lick her dry lips, every time her eyes fluttered shut in an exaggerated blink. Every time her lip was pulled in between perfect, white teeth. Laura found herself simply staring, hands unable to move across the canvas. “I think we’re going to have to meet a few more times than planned. This is taking a really long time. Do you mind?” she asked the girl still sitting on display for her. She tried to keep her eyes trained on Carmilla’s face, but they kept dropping down to take in the swell of her breasts, and the slight curve of her arched back.

“That’s fine,” Carmilla said lowly. “I’m yours until the project’s finished.”

Heat pooled low in Laura’s stomach at the girl’s words and she swallowed hard. “Same time tomorrow?”

The next day her classes dragged on and on. All she could think about was getting back to Room 307 and having Carmilla naked before her eyes like her very own Aphrodite, ready and willing to be captured on canvas for the first time.

When it came time for them to meet, Laura had already set everything up. They had agreed to meet for twice the amount of time tonight. This time, she had Carmilla perched on a pedestal, knees brought up to cover her chest, arms clasped around her shins, she had the lighting set up to cast perfect shadows allowing the girl her modesty. When Laura backed away to look at her the artist smiled. "You're perfect. I see you now. Don't move."

To say she felt exposed would be an understatement. She was on display for Laura’s searching eyes. Parts of her she had never shown to anyone were bare to the girl before her. She was relieved that Laura had the lighting the way she did, to the side so that her own body provided shadow for her most private places. Still, she watched as the girl’s eyes drifted over her, lingering on the flesh between her thighs more than once. Yes, she was exposed, but she wasn’t uncomfortable. Something about the artist put Carmilla at ease.

The girl’s eyes raked over her and studied her as if she were a piece of fruit, or a vase of flowers. There was passion, yes, but there was no lust behind Laura’s eyes. Her gaze was calculated and professional, as if she had seen thousands of naked bodies, and Carmilla had no reason to believe that she had not.

“What got you into art?”

The question broke through Laura’s concentration and startled her a bit. “Oh, um, my father,” she said dismissively. “He got me started at a very young age. I’d always follow around at his coat tail to gallery openings and museums.” She smiled fondly at the memories. “That was mostly just my love for him though. My love for art itself didn’t come until I saw my first girlfriend, spread out before me,” she smirked at the blush that crawled up Carmilla’s neck and cheeks. “I knew I wanted to capture the beauty of the female form in ways that no one else had.”

“And did you,” Carmila asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Capture her I mean.”

Laura’s face fell a bit at the question. “No, I tried, but she got away…” She watched as Carmilla’s eyes turned down toward her knees. “It’s okay though,” she smiled. “I’ve captured a few since then.” She winked at the girl, and noted her blush deepening. Carmilla’s hair had fallen over her right eye at the gesture, and when she went to push it away Laura stopped her. “Don’t, it’s perfect that way,” she smiled at the girl.

Carmilla gave the artist a shy smile in return.

At the end of the night, Carmilla had bent to retrieve her robe. She turned to find Laura’s eyes still traveling up her body to meet her own gaze. She could feel the blood rushing to her face again as Laura stepped closer to her.

Laura reached out and trailed her fingers along Carmilla’s jaw. “You blush beautifully, did you know that?”

Carmilla looked up at the girl; she was only inches away. It wasn’t until she felt Laura’s lips moving against her own, that she even realized she had been leaning forward. She dropped the robe opting to pull the other girl closer instead. Laura’s hands were warm on her back, fingers trailing up and down her bare skin. When they shifted down to mold against the swell of her backside, Carmilla pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” Laura breathed onto her lips. “I didn’t mean – I wasn’t – trying to – sorry…” she stuttered.

“No, it’s fine,” Carmilla said hastily. _More than fine,_ her body screamed. “It’s just,” she looked down. “I’m naked.”

Laura’s eyes drifted down Carmilla’s body. “Yes,” she breathed. “I see you.” She knelt down in front of Carmilla to retrieve the robe.

It took every ounce of strength Carmilla had not to tangle her fingers in the artist’s hair and pull her forward and into her waiting flesh. She felt damp and hot and she knew that from Laura’s position the girl could most likely smell the desire rolling off of her in waves. She felt Laura’s fingers on her thighs and she breathed in deeply. “I’ve never…” She let the confession hang in the air before them. She wanted. Oh how she wanted. But Laura stood and draped the robe around Carmilla’s shoulders.

Laura swallowed audibly. “Two more poses to go,” Laura whispered. “Same time tomorrow?”

Carmilla nodded.

Friday passed in a slow-motion blur, if that were possible. It seemed to drag at every turn, but at the end of the day, Carmilla couldn’t recall anything that had happened. All she could think about was the way Laura’s lips had felt against her own.

She would give anything to feel that again. Had her confession driven the girl away? Had she become less desirable because of it? She didn’t know. Had Laura ever really desired her at all? Again, she had no answers. The way the girl had looked at her at the end of the night had made Carmilla’s blood boil. If that wasn’t desire, then surely she would melt at the first glance of the real thing.

Her body shivered as she pushed open the door to Room 307. Laura was there already, as usual. What was _unusual_ was the bottle of champagne and two glasses that sat on the table next to her. “What is going on here,” she asked gesturing to the bottle and glasses.

Laura grinned up at the girl. “I thought we would celebrate. I haven’t found someone who inspired me this much in a very long time,” she admitted. She poured the bubbly liquid into two separate glasses and handed one to Carmilla. “To my new muse.”  She held her glass up and watched as the Carmilla did the same before taking a long sip.

Carmilla set the glass down and went to go change. Once she was in her robe, she padded back to Laura. “How do you want me tonight?”

Laura choked on the champagne she had just sipped. Coughing and sputtering and trying to find her breath. When she looked back up at Carmilla all she saw was concern. This girl really had no idea what she had just said. She shook her head and sucked in a deep breath. “Um – yeah – well, I’m thinking that I want you standing here to start out.” She moved Carmilla’s body into position. “Back facing me, head bowed, and…” she pulled the robe off of the girl and draped it over the chair. “This arm,” she moved the model’s right arm to bend behind her head. “Just like that.”

Laura had told herself over and over again that she would not initiate any kind of action with Carmilla today. The girl was clearly inexperienced in that realm, and she didn’t want the model to think she was being taken advantage of. Had she known Carmilla had never…well she never would have kissed the girl like she had yesterday. She hoped she hadn’t made her uncomfortable. No contact, she had told herself. She had already broken that rule. _I’m going to hell_ , she thought as she let her fingers trail down Carmilla’s spine, pushing the girl to arch her back. “You're perfect. I see you now,” she whispered. “Don’t move.”

There it was again. Those words. Carmilla knew that Laura meant she was in the perfect position, but those words made shivers run down her spine. When Laura said it, she actually believed it to be true. That she was seen. That she wasn't invisible.

An hour later, Laura was repositioning her into her final pose. The artist looked nervous and Carmilla raised an eyebrow in question.

Laura bit her lip. “You don’t _have_ to do this one, if you’re uncomfortable with it. It’s – a little more exposed than the others. I can pick another if you - ”

The artist was rambling and Carmilla found it endearing. “Laura,” she interrupted. “How do you want me this time?”

The lilt in Carmilla’s voice made Laura uncertain of the innocence of the question this time. “Um, okay.” She spread the sheet out on the floor once again and then placed a cushion in the middle. “Lie face up, with the cushion in the center of your back, that way it will hold the arch and you won’t get as tired.”

Carmilla moved to follow Laura’s instructions, lying on her back across the pillow.

Laura knelt beside her. “Okay,” she took Carmilla’s hands and moved her arms to rest above her head, stretching her torso and causing the girl’s skin to stretch taut against her delicate ribcage. It also caused the girl’s breasts to be displayed more prominently. “Then I’m just going to…” she moved one of Carmilla’s legs to bend slightly, while pulling the girl’s hip toward her so that the model was at a slight angle. “There. You're perfect,” Laura’s voice cracked mid-sentence. “Don’t move,” she whispered.

Why had she chosen this pose? This was torture. She could feel her own wetness as she moved to get a better look at Carmilla. Laura groaned and the model’s eyes shot to meet hers.

“Am I doing something wrong?” Carmilla asked.

Laura shook her head. “No, you’re perfect,” she started. “That’s kind of the problem.” She watched Carmilla’s brow furrow in confusion.

“I don’t understand,” the girl said.

Laura laughed. But it was hollow sounding. “I can’t seem to focus with you in this position,” she confessed.

Carmilla’s whole head turned this time, instead of just her eyes. “Oh,” she whispered. That was – unexpected. Laura stood and began to walk toward her. Carmilla did her best to remain unmoving as she watched the girl advance. But when the artist knelt at her side, the butterflies in her stomach felt as if they were spreading unsure wings for their first attempt at flight. Shaky and unstable, yet untarnished by the memories of previous falls. When Laura’s fingers found the slope of her neck and the ridges of her ribcage, those previously hesitant butterflies took flight in a swarm of fluttering wings and chaos. She felt as if layers of cold stone were being chiseled away revealing new, pink flesh below. Sensitive and alive. Warm and unblemished. She had shed her clothes for this tiny artist, and now she was shedding her cocoon of safety as well. “Laura,” she gasped as warm hands cupped her breasts.

At the whisper of her name, Laura surged forward and connected her lips with the girl below her. There was no hesitance in the way that Carmilla kissed her back. There was no reluctance in the way the girl’s fingers tangled into Laura’s hair and tugged until she lying half on top of the model. Laura moaned into the kiss, hands grasping at anything she could hold onto. Her knee finding its way between Carmilla’s thighs to press against her damp core.

Carmilla’s hips jerked up to rut against Laura’s thigh. Her hands tugged at Laura’s shirt and the girl pulled away just enough to yank off the shirt and sports bra she was wearing before her lips sought out Carmilla’s again. Flesh met flesh and bodies melted together in a chorus of soft sighs and low moans. Laura’s fingers dove into the wet heat below her giving and taking in the same breath.  Carmilla didn’t last long before she was tumbling over the edge and falling into an abyss of pleasure so pure that she felt she’d never again find enjoyment in anything that wasn’t Laura’s fingers pressing against her.

* * *

 

A week. It had been a week since that night. A week of Carmilla avoiding her calls and texts. A week that the dark haired girl had missed every creative writing class. A week since Laura had let a moment of heated passion get the best of her. She had inevitably scared the girl off. Normally this wouldn’t bother her. Normally, she would be the one avoiding calls and texts. But nothing about this was normal. Laura ached to see Carmilla again. The girl had awakened every part of her. She looked at the finished paintings. She had painted them from the sketches she’d drawn and even without Carmilla to model for her, they were by far the best she had ever created.

They were the best because they were laced with emotion. A passion so strong that anyone would be able to see it. She sat in Room 307 with her canvases drying and her paints still open around her. She heard the door open behind her, but couldn’t tear her eyes away from the girl on the canvas.

“I don’t think I’ve ever looked so beautiful,” came the voice she’d been longing to hear for the last week. Laura spun around to meet Carmilla’s gaze. They stared at one another, unmoving for a few moments, before the dark haired girl was rushing forward and pushing Laura against the table behind her.

Paints rolled off and splashed across the floor, but neither cared. They were too caught up in the heated embrace. Lips sliding over each other, hands pushing and pulling until all barriers had been shed. Laura led Carmilla gently to the floor and pressed on top of the girl. Her hands went down to stabilize herself, but slipped in the wet paint and they crashed together once again.

When they were both sated, they remained on the floor, hands still searching each other for parts they had yet to touch. Their bodies once blank canvases now covered with the undeniable image of passion. Deep reds and cool blues. Vibrant oranges and shadowy purples. Laura’s fingers traced along Carmilla’s jaw, pulling the girl in for another slow, gentle kiss.

Carmilla looked down at their bodies. “I’m a mess,” she chuckled lowly.

Laura pulled her in for another kiss. “You're perfect,” she whispered against the girl’s lips. “Don’t move.”


End file.
